Game On, Boyfriend
by mahc
Summary: JED-ABBEY Story One of "Election Series" Abbey's POV during and following The Debate. Post-ep for "Game On."


This is just a little vignette surrounding the episode "Game On." It's been awhile since I wrote Jed/Abbey ("Shall We Bury Fathers or Sons"). This is short, but I hope you enjoy it.  
  
POV: Abbey Spoilers: Game On Rating: PG-13/R Pairing: Jed/Abbey Disclaimer: These are not my characters, but I love them.  
  
  
  
Game on, Boyfriend  
  
A West Wing Story  
  
  
  
Game on, Sam had told him before the staff gave them the room. Game on. And it was. It was, indeed.  
  
Abbey Bartlet stood in the wings, watching as her husband chewed up and spit out every point Rob Ritchie attempted to make. She glanced at the monitor beside her, appraising how Josh's red tie tested on camera. Not bad, actually, but that hadn't been in her thoughts at all when she impulsively clipped Jed's original neckwear. A smile tipped her mouth up as she remembered the look of astonished horror on his face when he stared at the raw, dismembered charcoal and blue silk that had been so carefully chosen.  
  
"You're insane!" he had declared wildly, rushing off and yelling Charlie's name across the room as he snatched the ruined tie from his neck with a furious glare at her.  
  
She had responded in the only appropriate way: dangling the notorious scissors and cackling in evil glee. But then she had fallen in line with the frantic pack, catching up to them as they ripped off Josh's tie and shoved it over the head of the President of the United States, all during a mad dash through the corridors toward the packed auditorium.  
  
Push on. Ritchie waited. The world waited. Turn the corner. Oops. Don't fall. Straighten the tie, smooth the shirt, adjust the jacket. One last pat. Okay, he was ready. Go!  
  
The whack on the rear surprised her. His face had not changed one bit, still determined, still pumped, still intense - just as she had intended. But he had conveyed so many emotions in that one pop: anger, pride, gratitude, love.  
  
And her impromptu energizer had worked like a charm. He was virtually annihilating Ritchie. Not that he couldn't have done it anyway, but the energy with which he did it was directly attributable to the hectic run for the stage. The staff had left, removed themselves to the gymnasium that doubled as the press room for the evening. She wished she could hear them, could see their faces, because she knew what she would be looking at: pride, excitement, and perhaps a little awe. She had to admit, if only to herself, that Jed Bartlet could still inspire awe in her, even after 35 years of marriage. And that was one of the reasons she loved him so much - so much that her head was going to fly off, she had told him, knowing C.J. and Toby, at least, heard, but not caring a bit. She had long ago stopped counting Charlie as a stranger. That poor boy had probably heard and seen more than he had ever dreamed of seeing - or wanted to see - between his President and First Lady.  
  
She had wanted to kiss Jed there in the prep room. Had wanted to pull him close and hold him with the passion and desire and excitement that had almost overwhelmed her. But that would have been a disaster. At the very least, he would have walked out on stage with lipstick on his mouth; at the most - well, his consistent and certain reaction to her touch would have left him with a much more embarrassing display.  
  
So she settled on a simpler way to pump him up. And if he did think she was insane, maybe he was right. He'd thank her for it later. When they were alone. And from the look on his face when he had whacked her on the rear, it would be some thanks.  
  
The applause drew her attention and she realized suddenly that it was over. He was off the podium, coming toward her. She met him, kissed him, and threw her arms around him.  
  
"I am so proud of you," she whispered fiercely, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.  
  
He squeezed her and moved to the girls, who had stepped up, kissing each one, telling Ellie she looked beautiful. As the crowd continued their standing ovation, she moved across the stage, hand extended graciously to Governor Ritchie and his wife. The tall, silver-haired man wore a stunned look about the eyes, as if he had just gotten off the Tower of Terror at Disney World and wasn't sure if he needed to sit down or throw up.  
  
Janet Ritchie tried to smile, but it was thin, pained. Be gracious, Abbey told herself. Better probably not to speak at all. Just nod and shake her hand.  
  
The governor was next. He bowed toward her, his tall frame a little slumped. "Mrs. Bartlet," he greeted.  
  
"Governor." And that's what you're going to stay. The thought flashed uninvited through her head. She pushed it out, even though she had to admit to selfish glee at the truth of it.  
  
Amid the continued applause and chatter, she was not quite sure she heard him correctly, but it certainly sounded as if he said, "Your husband's something else."  
  
"I know," she acknowledged. "I know."  
  
Then, they were backstage again and staring at each other. She caught her breath at the energy and power literally leaping from her husband's body. His eyes flamed with the thrill of the moment. C.J. couldn't stop grinning. Josh had high-fived everyone in the room, including the President twice. Sam just nodded in quiet delight and admiration. And Toby actually smiled.  
  
Finally, Jed took a deep breath and turned to all of them. "All right," he said. "What's next?"  
  
"Joey will have polling data soon, sir," Josh told him, but they didn't need to see it, really. They knew what it would reveal. President Josiah Bartlet had kicked ass in a big way tonight. And even if the American people felt he was showing off his intelligence, they had to recognize it, had to realize who the better man was.  
  
"Okay," Jed replied, then surprised her. "Can we have the room for a minute?"  
  
Nodding, the staffers filed out. Abbey tried not to respond to the blatant smirk C.J. threw her before pulling the door to. For a long moment, they stared at each other, his eyes burning into hers. Finally, not shifting his intense stare one inch, Jed stripped off his coat and tossed it on the table behind them, stepping toward her in the same motion.  
  
Without a word, he threw his arms around her, pulling her hard against him and kissing her, his mouth insistent, his demand taking her breath. He didn't have to worry about lipstick - or anything else - now, and he let his feelings go, let them flow through him into her. Let them surround them, catch them up in a fast and furious race that could only end in physical release.  
  
But not here, she told herself weakly.  
  
Jed, stop.  
  
She had meant to say that aloud, but the feeble attempt never got past her overwhelmed brain. Instead, she found herself responding with equal fervor, giving in to the sexual tension they had been forced to ignore before the debate. She moved his hands to her buttocks, pressing them into the spot he had popped earlier, grinding against him until she felt him react. He groaned into her mouth and pulled at her harder, letting one hand move up to unbutton her jacket so that his lips could slide down her neck and over her breasts. Her turn to groan.  
  
"Mister President?" The inquiry was muffled, hesitant, outside the door.  
  
Even though they both heard it, neither was willing - or able - to let go of the intense passion that controlled them. She felt him grow harder, felt herself grow moist as she arched against him. This couldn't end here, she knew. Couldn't come to a climax - literally - on a table in a make- shift green room. She realized that and so did he, but somehow they couldn't pull away, couldn't make that first painful separating move.  
  
"Mister President?" Charlie called again. "It's time to go, sir. The limo is waiting."  
  
Time to go. The limo.  
  
And they were only minutes away from Air Force One.  
  
And Jed had a private office on Air Force One.  
  
As if the thought occurred to both of them at the same time, they pulled back, looked at each other, and grinned.  
  
Somehow, Jed managed to answer his body man, even though desire still roughened his voice. "Yeah, Charlie. Just a minute."  
  
Abbey could almost see the grins on the faces of Jed's staff, but she didn't care. She knew they were just as pleased with the evening as she was, knew they certainly didn't begrudge her or Jed their rare moments together. She just hoped Jed could regain enough control over his body not to embarrass them both too much.  
  
"Look," she said, holding his face in both hands. "You were so good tonight."  
  
"I'm not finished being good tonight," he grinned and she couldn't help but smile back.  
  
"That's not what I'm talking about."  
  
"But it's what I'm talking about."  
  
"Seriously - "  
  
"Sweet Knees, I'm always serious about sex."  
  
That was true.  
  
She decided to ignore him. "We're going to win this election," she declared confidently.  
  
"Yeah." Now he really did grow serious, reached up to capture her hands and draw them into his. "That means four more years, Abbey. That means - "  
  
She let her face fall into the same lines as his, didn't pretend to discount anything he was saying. "I know what that means," she assured him.  
  
"I know you didn't really want - "  
  
Shaking her head, she interrupted him. "You want it, Jed. And I want it for you."  
  
His jaw worked, his eyes shone, and he pushed out his lower lip like he did sometimes when he was trying to gain control of his emotions. She knew him well, had watched him for more than 35 years, had loved him for more than 35 years, had fought and made up with him for more than 35 years. She couldn't change him. Even though there would always be things about him that irritated her, she didn't really want to change him. He was Josiah Bartlet. He was the most fascinating man she had ever met. No, she wouldn't change him, even if she could.  
  
He looked down at the floor and said, almost to himself, "It's just - it's just that I still - we still have so much to do. There's - there are still children who don't go to the doctor because they don't have insurance, and guns are still killing our youth, and families are living on the streets, and - " She wasn't sure he even acknowledged her presence anymore, even though he still held her hands. "I'm just - I'm just not finished, yet," he whispered, closing his eyes.  
  
"You'll do those things, Jed," she encouraged.  
  
He didn't move, didn't answer, but she felt the subtle squeeze of his hand, heard the quick intake of breath.  
  
"You are the most compassionate man I know, and the most stubborn. You'll do those things and I'll be with you while you're doing them." And even though her words were calculated to boost him, she also believed them with all her heart.  
  
Finally, he raised his head and looked at her, tears brushing his lashes. "I love you, Abigail. I love you so very much."  
  
Okay, too much now. They had to walk out of that room, had to face their staff and the press. She had to break the emotion somehow.  
  
"Can we have it back, please?" she asked him, a sly smile lighting her eyes.  
  
He stared at her for a moment, searching for the connection in the seeming non-sequitur, but it didn't take long. A grin crossed his face and his shrugged. "It seemed like the obvious question."  
  
She knew that, although the meat of his answers had been carefully planned, painstakingly rehearsed with Sam, Toby, Josh, and C.J., the delivery was pure Jed Bartlet. The style, the inspiration, the confidence - all Jed.  
  
"Ritchie didn't know what hit him," she observed, handing him his coat and watching in fond amusement as he flipped it over his head and shrugged into it, in the same characteristic move he had used as long as she had known him. Something else that was pure Jed.  
  
"I told him he'd be back," he said, letting her smooth down his lapel as he re-buttoned her tunic. "But John can still take him in four years."  
  
Maybe. Hoynes was smart, too, she knew, but he lacked the powerful charismatic impact of Josiah Bartlet. Ritchie might have his day, but it wouldn't be today, or tomorrow, or certainly on the first Tuesday after the first Monday in November. That day, at least this time, was Jed Bartlet's day. She had no doubts now.  
  
Their bodies had calmed, at least long enough to get them to the plane. After that, she made no promises. With a quick kiss, she slipped her arm through his and they stepped to the door, opening it to a grinning group of staffers.  
  
"Sir," C.J. said in a low tone, her finger wiping discreetly at her own mouth.  
  
Abbey glanced up at him and saw the smear of lipstick across his lips and jaw. Flushing just a little, she reached up and attempted to remove it, only partially successful. The others looked away during the intimate exchange, but after a moment, Jed took her hand and moved forward.  
  
"Let's get back to Washington," he said, striding down the corridor so quickly that the secret service agents had to break into a jog to catch up.  
  
They all followed their President and First Lady, energy in their step, pride in their chests, hope in their eyes, and genuine affection in their hearts. She could see it in all of them. In Josh, his energizer. In C.J., his realist. In Sam, his idealist. In Toby, his conscience.  
  
In all of them. His family. Their family.  
  
Game on. Yes, it was. And it was their game. It was Jed's game. And he was damned good at it.  
  
As the limo sped through San Diego, and Jed's hand found hers again, the only thing that excited her more than knowing that victory was his, was the promise in his eyes and the knowledge that the ride on Air Force One was at least five hours long. 


End file.
